Grey Ceiling
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: Follow up to E2, and a companion of sorts to my other fic, 'Sympathy Pains'. This is the story of the darker part of Malcolm's possible future... y'know, besides the fact that he's a lifelong bachelor! Involves angsting and a hearttoheart with Trip. R


Disclaimer: I don't own Enterprise. That just about covers it. Sister Hazel owns the song 'Your Winter', from which comes like phrase 'grey ceiling'. I can no longer quote that song here, but I suggest you go look up the lyrics, 'cause they're so Trip/Mal!

Summary: Takes place after E-squared, follow up of sorts to my fic Sympathy Pains. Not enough to be considered a sequel to it, but character-wise it builds on it. If you like this, go read that. :shameless self-promotion: Anywho, this is the story of the darker thing Malcolm discovered about his future.

_Grey Ceiling_

It was the middle of the artificial night aboard the ship, and Malcolm Reed could not sleep. Images… possibilities of the cause of her death filled his head every time his eyelids shut.

There was only one person who would understand. Perhaps, one person who could ease his conscious. And, there was one person he owed an apology.

Malcolm rolled off of his bed, his bare feet curling involuntarily as they touched the cold, industrial metal floor. No need to get dressed; he was already wearing a clean uniform. These past few months it had become a habit to do that- go to bed in the navy blue overall, in case he was needed on duty in the middle of the night.

He slipped his sockless feet into his boots, standing and collecting himself for the task ahead. This was not something he wanted to do. But, it was something he had to.

The walk to Trip's quarters wasn't long. Repair crews still working around the clock buzzed through the halls in some areas, but not near the senior officer's quarters. Malcolm encountered no one on his short journey.

He reached the correct door, but hung back a moment before moving close enough to activate the doorbell. Hopefully Trip would understand… _but he gets so defensive whenever anyone mentions his sister!_

Moving before he could turn away, Malcolm stepped forward, hearing a chime inside Trip's quarters announce his presence. It was late, he realized suddenly, quite late, but he knew Trip would be awake.

Sure enough, a voice came a second later. "C'min."

The door slid open and Malcolm stepped through. Trip was stretched out on his bed, studying a PADD intently, and sat up only once Malcolm had entered fully.

"Malcolm. Innit a bit late to come calling?" Malcolm exhaled slightly; these past few days, Trip had seemed a bit more like his old self. It made coming here easier.

"I… I have to talk to you." Malcolm hesitated. "About Lizzie."

Trip's face shifted slightly; the change and the resulting expression were impossible to pinpoint. His eyes had hardened… but just barely. No where near the protest he had made in the past when Malcolm had brought up his late sister. Now, instead of looking furious, he looked a little sad- much more the expression Malcolm would've expected from anyone else.

"Siddown," Trip offered, gesturing at the desk chair.

Malcolm sat, went to stand back up again, and ended up remaining seated- and remaining silent.

Trip leant forward, eying Malcolm dubiously. "What's wrong?"

Malcolm opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again only to be at a loss for words. "I'm sorry if I was ever insensitive about your sister's death," he said at last.

Trip shook his head, looking puzzled. "Wha…?" He studied Malcolm for a moment, as though trying to see through to his 'true' incentive, and then said, "You weren't. Not really. Is that was this is about?"

Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek, phrasing his next sentence over and over in his head. It took him until about ten seconds after the fact to realize that he'd gone ahead and blurted it out already.

"According to the logs of the possible-future Enterprise, my sister Madeline will die next year."

Malcolm blinked. Trip blinked. "Oh," he said softly.

Now that Malcolm had started talking, he couldn't shut up. "And my first thought was of Elizabeth, and you- and how I didn't even know how she will die… and then you… and then I went to my quarters and… it hurts…" He closed his eyes tightly, at a complete loss for what to say next, also not entirely trusting his voice.

Finally, Trip spoke. "That's an alternate timeline. It no longer exists, now that we made our rendezvous with Degra. You don't know that Madeline will die."

When Malcolm finally spoke, he addressed the floor, not Trip. "That wasn't really my point."

"What was it then?" Trip questioned, gently but without missing a beat.

Malcolm sighed. Normally, it wasn't something he did; it was a sign of defeat, in his mind. But right now it was alright, because he did feel defeated, in a way. Utterly and completely defeated.

"I'm not strong like you," he said quietly. "I… when I heard Madeline would die so soon… so young…"

Trip waited, uncharacteristically patient.

Malcolm suppressed the urge to throw up his hand in downright desolation. "Maybe it's just everything but…" At last, he met Trip's eyes. "I lost it. I almost cried. I couldn't bear life without her. I don't know how you're doing it."

"I'm gettin' there," Trip said softly. Then, "I didn't know you were so close to your sister."

"I'm not," Malcolm admitted. "We haven't talked since Enterprise entered the Expanse; I haven't seen her face-to-face in years."

Trip remained silent, judging it the more intelligent thing to do. After a full minute of quiet, though, it became apparent that Malcolm had no intention of speaking either.

Trip sighed. "What happened?"

"What happened what?"

"What happened with your sister," Trip clarified. "To make you two stop speakin'. Obviously you're not gonna talk about her possible death, so you gotta at least tell me that."

"Oh." Malcolm's eyes looked slightly vacant. "Well, I guess it started with my father…" He cut off just as quickly as he had begun when Trip snorted with laughter. "What?"

Trip shook his hand, laughing to himself. "I got a couch over there, if you want. 'It started with my father...'" He snickered again, then finally fell silent. "Uh, sorry."

"Well, it did," Malcolm said defensively, then sighed. "I… I don't know. When I was young, I was ill almost constantly, going to the doctor almost once a month for something or other. And my father, he couldn't attribute it to a weak immune system, no- he said _I _was the thing that was weak. And so even though I was his eldest, and his only son, I think he began to look at Madeline like she was his heir, and not me… as stupid as it sounds, I suppose I was jealous of my baby sister." At some point during this little tirade, Malcolm realized, his head had sunk into his hands; now he lifted it, meeting Trip's compassionate blue gaze. "It's rather pathetic, isn't it?" He said at last.

"No," Trip said, in an uncharacteristically serious voice. "No, I don't think it is." He sighed. "So what did your sister think about all this?"

Malcolm shrugged. "For the longest time, I don't think she was even aware of it. When I left for Starfleet, my father was furious… I think she worked it out then. I suppose it must have disturbed her at the very least because she moved back to London as soon as she could. But with her there and me in San Francisco… that's when we started to move apart, I guess."

Trip nodded, rather noncommittally, but remained silent, waiting for Malcolm to continue. When the other man made no move to do so, Trip decided to test the waters. "So, how did she die?"

Malcolm, seemingly lost in his own thoughts for a moment there, looked over at Trip. "What?"

Trip bit back a long-suffered sigh. "Madeline… how'd she die, Malcolm?"

Malcolm paused a moment before replying, "Shuttlepod crash. She was going down to visit my parents…"

"Oh," Trip said.

Malcolm collected himself visibly before saying what he said next. But he knew there was no other time to say it. "I've never told you this, Trip, but when Elizabeth died… I tried to be there for you."

"I know that."

"Let me finish," Malcolm snapped. "I tried to be there for you, but deep down I kept wondering what I would have done if England were hit, and I was just glad it hadn't been. It was selfish and I know that but that's what I was thinking. We went to visit Florida, you and I, remember? Just after it happened." He frowned, choosing his phrasing very carefully. "And standing there… I just kept picturing Madeline dead. I kept trying to get you to open up to me. I wanted to know that you were all right, so I'd know that if Maddy ever did die, I'd be okay to…" He began to trail off. "And I'm sorry."

All the blood had gone out of Trip's face. He sat there for a moment, pale and unmoving, while Malcolm cursed internally and prayed that his friend wouldn't be _too_ angry. But then, a few seconds later, Trip grinned. It was shaky, and unsure, but genuine.

"So that's why you kept pushing," he said quietly.

Wordless, Malcolm nodded.

"I get it," Trip assured him. "Look, Malcolm, Lizzie… she meant a lot to me. A helluva lot. We were the closest in our family. We did everything together and even when I pretended she annoyed me, she didn't. Not really. I can't tell you it doesn't hurt, because it hurts like nothing I've ever felt before." His voice broke slightly, but he continued. "And if your sister… if Maddy dies next year, of course it's going to hurt, and it's never going to go away completely. But if she does, I'm here. I'll help. Just do me a favor and let me grieve for my sister in my way, on my time."

"O-okay," Malcolm mumbled, coherent words and thoughts still eluding him. "You know I'm sorry, right? I didn't mean to feel that way, it's just…"

Trip nodded. "I know. I would've felt the same way." He paused. "Malcolm… go back to bed now. You look terrible."

Malcolm nodded, flashed a fraction of a smile, then stood up and left.

As soon as he was gone, Trip Tucker let his gaze fall down to his hands, watching his thumbs fidget against each other, and trying not to think too much. It didn't work very well. "Damnit," he whispered, biting his lip. "Gad damnit."

And outside, in the corridor, Malcolm Reed made his way back to his quarters, replaying the conversation in his head and trying to decide if he felt comforted or not.

AN: Wheee! That got weird at the end, I know. Actually it was weird the entire time! I suppose some lines sound a bit slashy out of context, heehee… I tried to keep the two of them as in character as possible, but I'd appreciate opinions on if I did well, and if not, how to do better. Please review!


End file.
